“DEAR MR. HAMILTON,—I have this moment read your name among the arrivals in Munich, and write to tell you that we are for the present at Seon, a short journey distant from you. Our house is not at present habitable, and we have made this old monastery our headquarters. It was some years ago a tolerably frequented bath, but being no longer so, I shall have no difficulty whatever in procuring an apartment for you. We shall be delighted to see you, and show you the beauties of our neighbourhood. Perhaps, too, we can arrange a tour in the Tyrol together. John, I know, has joined his regiment; therefore I do not expect to see him. But probably Mrs. Hamilton is with you; in which case I am quite sure you will not leave Germany without having visited your sincere friend, A. Z.” “How far is Seon from Munich? What sort of a place is it?” asked Hamilton. “I am sorry I cannot give you any information, sir. Since I have been here no traveller has left for Seon.” “Is there no mail or stage-coach to any place near it? There must be a post-town, or something of that sort.” “I really do not know, sir.” “Try and decipher the post-mark,” said Hamilton, impatiently handing him the envelope. “I think it is Altenmarkt, but I am not quite sure.” “Give me my maps, if you please, and tell Mr. Havard I wish to speak to him for a few minutes.” When he had left the room, Hamilton turned the letter in every possible direction, examined the seal, which was a small coronet with the initials “A. Z.,” read it five or six times over, and in thought mustered his tolerably numerous acquaintance. Not an “A. Z.” among them all! How very provoking! “And yet the letter may be intended for me,” he murmured, twisting it around his fingers: “It is not impossible that the writer may have thought that I was travelling with my aunt—why not? And John has actually joined his regiment very lately!—or—or—it may be some friend of my father’s; in which case, as I do not know the name, and cannot explain by letter, I consider it a sort of duty to go to Seon, and in his name thank the good-natured person for the invitation. But what if it were not intended either for me or for my father? No matter. The letter is addressed to A. Hamilton, Esq.; if the writer intended it for an Abraham, an Achilles, or an Anthony, the fault is not mine. Alfred also begins with A.; the address is to the Golden Stag; my correspondent has seen my name or my father’s in the newspapers;—mentions my mother and my brother. What more can I require?”